


hypotheticals

by youcouldmakealife



Series: but always in tandem [14]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 05:27:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7878286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Was it like that with me?” Robbie asks.</p><p>“Don’t do this, Robbie,” Georgie says. “You’re drunk, okay? Let’s just. You want to talk about this tomorrow, we can talk about this tomorrow, I’d be <i>happy</i> to talk about it, but don’t do this tonight.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	hypotheticals

You know, Robbie doesn’t ask for much in life, honestly. Lately it’s mostly been ‘less Georgie, please God’, which unfortunately hasn’t really been answered, but Robbie’s been a pretty sporadic Catholic, so who could blame the big guy. Come with your hand out whenever you want something, ignore him the rest of the time. Worst kids ever. 

Anyway this is a roundabout way to say Georgie shows up at their table a-fucking-gain, like, maybe fifteen minutes after he showed up the first time, because Robbie can’t catch a fucking break right now. 

He shows up with the captain of the Panthers in tow, which Robbie guesses makes him the designated hook up for the night. Robbie hadn’t really thought about it or anything, but Lourdes' habit of doing dudes — Robbie’s not judging, obviously — has made it around half the league, probably, the kind of locker room gossip that never makes it _out_ of the league. He’s hot, which is about all Georgie’s hook ups generally have in common except, well — Robbie’s not going to think about where he sits on that scale, because it’s fucking depressing. Also, Lourdes has definitely played with Georgie on Team USA before, which is suddenly putting a whole new spin on Georgie’s jokes about Development Camp. Robbie’s never met him off the ice before, but he’s already judging him for falling for Georgie’s charms, while very firmly ignoring the fact he fell for Georgie’s charms the hardest. By far. Fuck eighteen year old Robbie. 

Georgie does some fast talking, grinning that half grin that looks so good on him, that he knows looks good on him. There’s this shuffle of introductions Robbie barely follows except to figure Chaps and Lourdes know each other, which isn’t surprising considering they’ve been rivals for fucking ever, Lourdes and Volkie do, clearly, since teammates, and suddenly, voila, Volkie is the first to fall and Georgie’s squeezing in next to Chaps, Lourdes sliding into the spot beside Robbie.

Volkie. Robbie fucking trusted him. Or, obviously he didn’t, after the Kurmazov thing, but he thought the dude had better sense. 

Robbie’s furious, flat out vibrating with it. Georgie has to be doing this on purpose, there’s no fucking way he isn’t. He showed up and he ruined Robbie’s night just to prove he could. That’s not the Georgie Robbie knew, even the one he knows now, but he can’t think of any explanation for Georgie sitting across from him right now other than Georgie knowing Robbie’s still got that wound fucking festering, is enjoying how easy it is to pour salt in it.

Robbie can’t call him out in front of everyone without adding a whole fuckton of gay drama to Chaps’ birthday, a helping of team drama on top of it. Can’t even fucking insult Georgie’s drink choice, since he orders a round of Sam Adams for the table, which he _knows_ Robbie likes. It’s pretty fucking stupid to resent someone for ordering something you like, but whatever, Robbie’s feeling pretty fucking stupid right now, pretty fucking pissed on top of that. 

He's drinking too much, maybe, considering the company, but everyone’s doing fucking story time, Robbie included, and so many of Robbie’s best stories involve Georgie. Not even in a relationship way or anything, just. Georgie already knows these stories because he was there for them, was right beside Robbie. Everyone’s swapping weird teammate stories, and Lee’s easily the first person who comes to mind, but Robbie regrets bringing it up the first time he almost says Georgie’s name, has to awkwardly slip ‘my roommate’ in instead, feeling caught. No one notices or cares, at least, except Georgie, and fuck that guy anyway. Robbie can’t help but notice the way his face drops the first time Robbie cuts his name out. Fucking good.

Chaps gets sleepy pretty early, like it’s past his bedtime, leaning into Volkie in this unself-conscious way Robbie kind of wants to snippily tell him is pretty homo, but also doesn’t because like…Volkie didn’t do anything, Volkie doesn’t get weirded out, kind of surprisingly considering the whole Chaps being Canadian and Volkie being Russian thing. Robbie thought Canadians were supposed to be all enlightened about this kind of shit. He’s certainly had enough Canadian teammates spouting that message, and Quincy gives them a zero tolerance talk every fucking season, which would be more annoying if Robbie didn’t appreciate it so fucking much.

Robbie’s not spiteful or anything. Okay, maybe he is with Georgie, but that's deserved. He’s not going to lash out just because Chaps gets that awful look on his face every time the subject brushes up to one of, like, the key things Robbie is. Maybe put some distance between them before Robbie telling him he’s gay becomes a big enough thing to fuck with the room, but not _punish_ him, not make him self-conscious for daring to ignore personal space with a friend. That’s a dick move. 

Volkie starts making noises about heading back soon after that, when Chaps is really drooping, looks like he’s about to fall asleep right on his shoulder.

“Robbie?” David asks, shaking himself to semi-alertness.

“I gotta take a piss first,” Robbie says, has them go ahead. When he gets back to the table Lourdes has slid into Robbie’s spot and Georgie’s taken Lourdes’. The two of them are sitting all snug and tight, Georgie’s hand on Lourdes’ back and Lourdes murmuring something to him, low, and like — fuck, doesn’t even take him a minute, does it. Looks like David’s birthday interrupted the hook up but it’s back on now, making up for lost time.

Chaps is waiting for him outside with Volkie, and like, obviously Robbie should go. This is 100% a situation where leaving is the best idea. Drinking with the ex you kind of want to punch in the face? Bad idea, man. Sticking around expressly to cockblock him — because Robbie won’t lie to himself, if he sticks around that’s exactly why — well, it isn’t exactly going against what Cap Q told him, but it’s sure as fuck not in good faith.

Robbie heads outside without pausing by the table, but he also orders another drink at the bar on his way out, so. Great decision making going on here.

“I’m going to stick around for one more drink if you’re okay to get back,” Robbie says.

Chaps frowns. “Getting kind of close to curfew,” he says.

“Kurmazov basically gave the okay,” Robbie says, and when Chaps frowns deeper and opens his mouth, presumably to say something like, _only for me_ , adds, “Someone’s got to make sure Georgie gets back before the bars shut down.”

“And that someone is you?” Volkie asks, sounding amused. That dude is kind of an asshole. Robbie likes him a lot.

Robbie shrugs.

“Okay,” David says. “Be safe?”

“Sure,” Robbie says. “Fucking boy scout right here.”

Robbie goes back in, gets his drink. Georgie doesn’t even look too surprised or put out when he sits down at the table, annoyingly, just says, “Thought you were heading back,” neutral sounding.

Lourdes’ head shoots up when Georgie says it, so at least someone feels caught or whatever, and Robbie feels like he’s been vindicated or some shit, like he wasn’t being stupid, sticking around. Petty, maybe, but not stupid. Lourdes doesn’t actually stick around long after, though, just finishes his drink, pretty much silent the whole time, and heads out, and like, cockblocking achieved or whatever, but that was too fucking easy to feel satisfying, even in a petty way, and now Robbie’s stuck sitting across from Georgie with a mostly full drink.

Georgie doesn’t try to make conversation at least, fiddles with his phone, saying “Willie,” when Robbie glances at him, as if Robbie fucking asked. Except now Robbie feels like he has to ask. Like, Robbie kind of broke up with the Dineens when he broke up with Georgie, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like them or anything. They’re all good people. Not their fault. Besides, William was always his favorite Dineen — besides Georgie back then, but definitely his favorite now — this sweet, shy kid who took himself way too seriously until he didn’t. 

“What’s he up to?” Robbie asks.

“He’s at Brown,” Georgie says. “Freshman year. So. Burning the midnight oil.”

“Brown, seriously?” Robbie says. “Fuck, tell him congrats.”

Georgie’s mouth quirks a little. “He says thanks,” he says after a minute. “And he also says thanks for making me less shitty on the ice.”

“I love that kid,” Robbie says, though, fuck, he’s eighteen now. 

“Yeah, me too,” Georgie says, and Robbie just — can’t look at him, so he looks at his drink instead.

“He get a soccer scholarship?” Robbie asks after the silence gets heavy. He knows Dickie got one for baseball, and William was pretty damn good at soccer. A Dineen sport for every season, and all of them were awesome, if maybe not the first round of the draft awesome Georgie set as the bar to clear. Probably a good thing they didn’t play hockey too, or that might have paved the way right to resentment.

“Not to Brown,” Georgie says. “Couple schools he wanted to go to less, yeah, but he’s not on Brown’s team or anything. Wanted to go for econ, because apparently he’s as nuts as you are, so I paid.”

“You paid,” Robbie repeats, looking up, partly because of the actual words, but partly how easy Georgie said them, like it was just whatever, all, ‘I got this’. ‘I can pay for your coffee’ ‘I can drop six figures on college for you, bro’. No big.

Georgie shrugs. “He wanted to go to Brown. He _got into Brown_ , like. He’s brilliant. Kind of stupid for him to go into debt or go somewhere less prestigious when I have the money to pay for it.”

“Huh,” Robbie says.

“Can you stop looking at me like you’re surprised?” Georgie says. “Like, seriously, he’s my _little brother_ , Robbie. Stop acting like I’ve suddenly turned into a different person.”

“I know,” Robbie says, then mutters, “Sorry,” because Georgie’s kind of got a point. He was always a crazy gung ho older brother, nicer to Dickie and William than Robbie had ever seen older siblings be. Would make fucking signs like a soccer mom and head back to Providence for every big game he could make, dragging Robbie along with him more than a few times, especially after they got together. It’s not really the sort of thing he should be surprised by. Just because Georgie was — well, it’s not like he’s going to cheat on his fucking, like, brotherly love.

“S’fine,” Georgie says, then goes back to presumably texting William while Robbie drinks his beer, bites back every single thing he could say, every single thing he wants to.

“I just ordered an Uber, split it?” Georgie asks when they’re getting low, and it’s stupid to say no, it’s a short ride to the hotel and who knows how many are actually kicking around right now. It’s not like they’re in an actual fucking city.

“Yeah,” Robbie says. “Sure.”

Robbie’s drunk and testy, but he’s not like, drunk drunk, not stupid drunk, so he doesn’t say anything during the ride. Unless they just talk about William or something, he has a feeling it'd probably get ugly sooner rather than later, and it’s not cool to subject some poor dude just trying to make a buck to a fight, so.

Robbie maybe is stupid drunk though, or at least drunk and stupid, because like, the smart, Quincy approved thing to do would be to go directly to bed without saying anything except, you know, good night or whatever, but instead as soon as they’re dropped off in front of the hotel Robbie’s curiosity — and okay, maybe spite — gets the better of him, and he says, “You fucking him?”

“I don’t even know who you’re talking about,” Georgie says, rubbing his face like Robbie’s exhausting, which, fuck that. And fuck the fake innocent bullshit too.

“Just stuck around to catch up, then?” Robbie asks. “I mean, until I interrupted.”

“Are you talking about Jake?” Georgie asks. “You serious right now?”

“Not exactly hiding the fact he fucks guys, that’s common fucking knowledge,” Robbie says. “And what happens at Development Camp…”

“Not exactly hiding the fact he’s crazy hung up on someone,” Georgie retorts. “Sorry to disappoint, but I stuck around to make sure he was doing okay.”

“So if he hadn’t been hung up on someone,” Robbie says.

“Oh my god, are you on me for something that didn’t happen and wasn’t going to happen?” Georgie says. “Can you hear yourself right now, Robbie?”

“Not like it’s out of character,” Robbie says. 

“It’s not your business either,” Georgie says, then, “Sorry.”

“No, you’re right,” Robbie says. “None of my fucking business. Wasn’t even when it was, huh Georgie?”

“Robbie,” Georgie says.

“Hey, _babe_ , you remember Kaitlin?” Robbie asks. “How broke up you were?”

Georgie’s quiet.

“Forgot, huh?” Robbie asks. “Guess I’m not—”

“I remember,” Georgie says.

“How long did it take you to get over that?” Robbie asks. “A day, two?” 

“We weren’t dating for that long,” Georgie says.

“Was it like that with me?” Robbie asks.

“Don’t do this, Robbie,” Georgie says. “You’re drunk, okay? Let’s just. You want to talk about this tomorrow, we can talk about this tomorrow, I’d be _happy_ to talk about it, but don’t do this tonight.”

“I’m curious, though,” Robbie says. “How long did it take? Three days, maybe?”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Georgie says, sounding tired.

“Five, then?” Robbie asks.

“Robbie, for fuck’s sake,” Georgie says. “You want to know how long it took?”

“Seven,” Robbie decides.

Georgie clenches his jaw, doesn’t say anything.

“Seven,” Robbie confirms.

“Fuck you,” Georgie says, so low Robbie can barely hear him.

“You know,” Robbie says. “I always wondered — I thought, you know, if I’d been enough you wouldn’t have —”

“Robbie,” Georgie says.

“Shut the fuck up,” Robbie says. “So what was it?”

Georgie looks at him warily.

“Was it that I wasn’t enough for you, or was it just that I didn’t fucking matter enough?” Robbie asks, before his brain finally catches up with his mouth and he realises he really can’t handle whatever answer he gets to that, that he’s rubbing salt in his own fucking wounds right now. “Fuck, don’t answer that, I don’t want to know the answer.”

“It wasn’t either,” Georgie says. “Don’t put words in my mouth after refusing to listen to a thing I say, Robbie.”

“I said don’t answer,” Robbie snaps.

“You were,” Georgie says. “You know you were. You were my best friend, you were — you’re the fucking love of my life, don’t act like you don’t know that. Of course you were enough for me.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Robbie says, and takes himself to bed.

*

So, like, just for the record, walking into a situation knowing you’re about to be broken up with? It fucking sucks.

Robbie kind of had an inkling in advance. Francis has been pretty weird since Georgie tagged along for dinner, ducking out of things more often than not. Robbie’s seen him once in the past week, and part of that’s hockey, part of that’s school, but he’s pretty sure it’s not all of it. Like, you shouldn’t have to go to class to see your boyfriend.

Francis texts him to come over, which is red flag city, and not just because Robbie never goes there, considering the roommmate and all. There’s nothing technically weird about the wording of the text, but it all adds up to a picture Robbie really doesn’t like.

But what’s he going to do, not go? Best case he totally misinterpreted things and he’s working himself up over nothing. Worst case he didn’t and it’s best to rip the band-aid off. Medium case it’s a talk but not _the_ talk, and the sooner it’s figured out the better. Any way you shake it, it’s best to go as soon as possible.

One look at Francis’ face when they’re back in his room, determined and kind of steely, like he’s walking into a shootout — the kind where it’s your life on the line, not a game — and Robbie knows it’s not the best case scenario. Not the middle one, either.

“Do you want to like—” Francis says.

“I am not sitting down for you breaking up with me,” Robbie says. 

Francis’ mouth twists a little. “Okay,” he says, and even though Robbie figured it was coming, hearing it confirmed is a whole other thing.

“You know what, I am gonna sit,” Robbie says, and takes the edge of Francis’ bed. At least he thinks it’s his. Weird you can date someone for months and not know what their bed looks like when they’ve probably spent a week straight in yours. Weird what you think about when you’re trying not to get overly upset in front of your boyfriend — former boyfriend? Feels like limbo right now.

“So this is where you say ‘it’s not you it’s me’,” Robbie prompts when Francis doesn’t say anything. Ripping the band-aid off. Good advice. Painful as fuck, though.

“It’s kind of you,” Francis says.

“Okay, ouch,” Robbie says.

“Or, not you,” Francis says. 

“Can’t backtrack from the ‘it’s kind of you’,” Robbie says. “You threw down the gauntlet there.”

“You’re great,” Francis says.

“But,” Robbie says.

“But you’re not like…you’re not really that into me,” Francis says. “So.”

“Okay,” Robbie says. “First off, don’t tell me how I feel. Second, what the fuck, you’re breaking up with me because you’ve decided _I_ don’t like _you_?”

“More because you’re basically head over heels for your best friend, but yeah,” Francis says.

Okay, that one cuts too close.

Robbie rubs his face. “Can we talk about this?” he asks, even though it’s pretty high on the list of Things He Doesn’t Want To Fucking Talk About.

“There anything to talk about?” Francis asks.

“Francis,” Robbie says.

“Look, you ever get over your giant thing for your dudebro bestie,” Francis says, getting real heavy with the sarcasm toward the end of that, “Maybe we can talk then.”

“There’s nothing wrong with dudebros,” Robbie says. “ _I’m_ a dudebro.”

“Yeah, Robbie, that’s the thing to focus on, here,” Francis says. “Defending dudebros when you’re getting broken up with. Great priorities.”

“What do you want me to say?” Robbie says. “You want me to deny it?”

“No,” Francis says. “I’d really prefer you not lying to my face, thanks.”

“Yeah, I’m a shit liar,” Robbie admits. “It’s not really in my control, man,” he adds. “I can’t shut it off.”

“I know,” Francis says. “Did I say I was mad at you?”

“You’re especially snarky right now?” Robbie says. “I mean, I’m definitely getting a vibe.”

Francis snorts. 

“Look,” Robbie says. “I really like you.”

“You’re just in love with him,” Francis says.

“I’m not in love with him,” Robbie argues.

“I’m not arguing this with you,” Francis says. “You want to be in denial, fine. You two want to pretend you’re totally normal besties, knock yourselves out, honestly, Robbie. But I am really sick of feeling like I’m your back up, so.”

“You’re not my back up,” Robbie says.

“He calls you up right now, says he wants to be your boyfriend, what do you say?” Francis says.

“He wouldn’t do that,” Robbie says.

“I know you understand hypothetical situations, Robbie, you’re not stupid,” Francis says.

“And I’m not going to talk about a hypothetical that’ll never happen,” Robbie says.

“Because we both know the answer,” Francis says.

Robbie chews the inside of his cheek, doesn’t insult Francis’ intelligence by arguing, because if Georgie offered, well. It’s a stupid hypothetical. They both know the answer to it, though.

“Sorry,” Robbie mumbles. 

“I really, really like you,” Francis says. “Like. Enough that this really fucking sucks and I lied, I am mad at you.”

“I can’t—” Robbie says.

“I know it’s not your fault, okay?” Francis says. “But don’t tell me I’m not allowed to be mad at you.”

“Okay,” Robbie says. “I’m not. You totally have the right to be.”

It’s not like Robbie went in all twirly mustache, ‘hah, I’m going to have a boyfriend _and_ an unrequited crush, best/worst of both worlds!’. He likes Francis, he’s not lying. He also knows that if it was reversed he’d feel the exactly same level of sad and pissed as Francis looks like right now, and it wouldn’t matter if it was under Francis’ control or not. It probably really fucking sucks feeling like second best, especially when you’re supposed to be the only. 

Francis looks just…completely adrift. Hurt, yeah, but worse than that. Kind of defeated. Slumped shoulders and shit posture when he’s always got his head up. Robbie wants to make him feel better, partly for selfish reasons, so he can feel less like a shit human being, but also because like…he’s never seen Francis like this. It hurts Robbie just to look at him.  


“I know you’re mad at me,” Robbie says. “So you can totally tell me to fuck off, here, but.”

Francis looks over at him.

“Can I give you a hug or something?” Robbie asks.

“Okay,” Francis says, kind of raspy, like he’s holding back — something — and Robbie feels like dogshit right now, truly he does. Francis is the same as he always is — warm and thin, almost fragile feeling in his arms, shoulder exactly the right place for Robbie to tuck his head in. 

“Hey,” Robbie says, forces himself to meet Francis’ eyes, which are dark and a little wet. It makes Robbie want to cry, like a contagious reaction. “I’m really fucking sorry, okay?”

“I know,” Francis says, then kisses him, and it feels exactly as much like goodbye as it is.


End file.
